


Do It Til We Get It Right

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, BB-8 is Multipurpose, Blow Jobs, Brexit Consolation Porn, First Time, Is it shotgunning in a world with blasters not shotguns?, M/M, Poe's black mission turtleneck, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>It's at the tail end of their fourth mission, the least smooth and successful one yet, when Finn finally asks what's going on.</cite><br/>Poe gets high, gets Finn high, and feelings finally resolve to action.</p>
<p>BB-8 supervises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do It Til We Get It Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deputychairman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deputychairman/gifts).



> This is directly inspired by hegemony and cicak's riffing for NSFW Fridays [here](http://cicaklah.tumblr.com/post/145717732815/1-at-the-beginning-of-their-relationship-while%0A).
> 
> Thanks to G. for beta and title help. Title and mood from A$AP Rocky, "Purple Swag".

It's at the tail end of their fourth mission, the least smooth and successful one yet, when Finn finally asks what's going on.

They're waiting for extraction on XD-8305, one of those abandoned terraforming failures that orbit a lot of gas giants out here. They're lucky; 8305 maintains a fairly comfortable average ambient temperature of 9° with little precipitation to speak of. It also only has daylight for three standard hours every six months, and they just missed that by less than a week.

Poe's ambling away from their campsite, hands in his pockets, turtleneck pulled up over his chin, BB-8 beside him, when Finn catches up with them.

"Huh? No, nothing," Poe says and shakes the hair out of his eyes. "Just checking the perimeter. Catching up with the old droid-pal. Stretching my legs. You know."

There's nothing Finn can put a finger on, let alone articulate, but Poe's manner is, nonetheless, off. Just slightly; maybe Finn's overreacting, maybe he's still getting used to how normal people do things, but then again, maybe not.

"Yeah?" Finn's asking for affirmation, but he doesn't know of what.

"Yeah, definitely. You know." And here's Poe agreeing. BB-8 knocks Poe in the knee and trills. Poe huffs out a breath and adds, after a moment or two, "You want to come along?"

Finn shifts his weight from foot to foot. He _does_ want to; he likes hanging out with Poe, especially off-base (unless they're in mortal danger, but even then, it's a better time than not; at least they're together, just like the first time), likes talking to him. Especially likes hearing him laugh, even more _making_ him laugh.

On the other hand, he's getting the very strong sense that he's about to trespass on something here, if he hasn't already.

This was a long, stupid mission that's left him especially antsy, more uncertain than he's felt in a while now. That's probably all that's going on.

BB-8 beeps and takes off. Poe watches him go, then turns back to Finn. "Come on, it's cool."

He bumps his shoulder against Finn's, grinning, and the trepidation lifts, just like that, leaving Finn to jostle him back. As they climb after BB-8, their shoulders and elbows continue knock together. Sometimes their hands, too. Residual mission habit, maybe, sticking so close to each other.

They've pitched their tent in the shallow lowland between two moraines, but BB-8 leads them all the way up an incline, tooting and bouncing as he goes. The sky is glorious up here, stars in every direction, almost close enough to touch.

"Wish we could sleep up here," Finn says, turning around slowly, looking up.

"Little exposed," Poe says, then, hearing the tone (impatient, corrective), shakes his head. "It's nice, though, huh?"

Finn drops to a crouch and runs his fingers through the stringy, fuzzy lichen that coats everything in sight. "So what do you do on these hikes? Walkabouts? What are they? How far are we going?"

"No, man, we're here," Poe tells him. Dropping down, he opens his legs and BB-8 scoots right up between his thighs. "I don't hike anywhere. I just -- get away."

Finn nods. "I can go back, I don't want to interrupt."

"You're not." Poe cocks his head, squinting up at Finn. Lit only by BB-8's various sensors, his face looks haunted, skeletal, for a second, then normal, if really tired. "C'mon, sit."

"What're you getting away from?" 

Poe doesn't answer. He's bent over BB-8, rustling in one of the compartments. He pulls out an extensible arm topped with a small bowl, then taps out the contents of a tiny square of folded flimsiplast into the bowl. BB-8 gurgles, a sound Finn's sure he's never made before, as a slim tube of transparisteel rises from his crown.

Poe leans over, gathering BB-8 even closer against him -- almost embracing BB-8, honestly -- and locks his lips around the tube. He taps a sensor on BB-8's back and the material in the bowl slowly ignites. It brightens as Poe sucks slowly. Steam curls in the base of the tube, then twines upward; Finn leans in to get a better look at Poe's mouth -- his lips are redder than usual, sealed tight, and there's a glint of teeth. He almost jumps back when Poe lifts his hand off BB-8 and audibly, almost crooningly, sucks in all the steam.

Finn exhales with Poe, but his breath isn't visible, not like Poe's, which curves and billows, hanging in the air between them. When he blinks, it's gone, and there's just Poe's smile, a much looser, flatter curve, glowing in BB-8's light.

"Everything," Poe says, and coughs a little. "Getting away from --" He flings out one hand (the other he keeps protectively wrapped around BB-8) and circles it against the unfamiliar stars. "-- everything."

Finn nods. 

"You want a hit?" Poe nudges BB-8 lightly toward Finn, and the tube rotates over, then tilts at him. Finn glances at Poe, then the tube, then back at Poe's lips. "There's plenty, don't worry."

Finn shrugs and rubs the back of his hand across his mouth. BB-8 dings quietly at him, moving the tube back and forth.

"It's from home," Poe continues. He seems to need to explain something, but Finn stopped following a while back. "Trustworthy, I swear. Unlaced. If that's what's worrying you."

"I'm --" Finn scoots a little closer. "I'm not worried. I just don't know what you're talking about."

"Shit," Poe says, lowly, more to himself and BB-8 than Finn. "Right, okay." He runs his free hand through his hair again, twisting his fingers in it, then yanks his hand free and reaches for Finn. "Come here, this is better." Grinning suddenly, he ducks his head, then slaps BB-8 lightly when the droid boops something. "Easier, this is also easier."

"What is?" Finn asks; as Poe pulls his leg up, folding it between himself and BB-8, he beckons Finn into the space.

"It's a lot to do at once," Poe says, shifting so they're right up against each other, shoulders touching. "So I'll inhale for you, then share it."

Finn eyes BB-8, who's letting off bubbling sounds again. 

Poe draws a little in on himself. "It's okay, you don't have to, either. Don't feel like you have to."

"No, I want to," Finn tells him. "Let's go."

There's half a moment where Poe looks him over, eyes sliding, smile lifting, then BB-8 shivers a little and Poe tells him, "fine, fine, chill out."

He does the lighting up-steam building-sudden release-and-suck sequence again. This time, at this angle, Finn watches even more closely his profile illuminated against the sky, how his lips stretch around the tube, how his cheek hollows to darkness as he sucks, then how his head snaps back when he pulls off, the length of his throat picked out by the dimming embers in the bowl.

Poe jabs Finn's shoulder, tugging him in, then pinches Finn's chin, thumbnail scraping his lower lip, until, startled _and_ confused, Finn opens his mouth. Little wisps of steam escape the corners of Poe's lips and puff from his nostrils, but then he's all the way right up in front of Finn, filling Finn's vision, tipping Finn's head back and sort-of, too lightly, kissing him.

_Finally._ Finn groans, reaches for Poe, tries to deepen the kiss, but Poe and BB-8 cluck at him chidingly and then he gets it, opens his mouth and inhales as Poe blows into him.

The steam is sweet, not that hot, but Poe's lips are almost burning. Finn gulps, then exhales, and the steam that comes out his mouth breaks against Poe's face and makes him blink rapidly and bark with laughter.

"Whoa, what _is_ that?" Finn slumps, just for a second, against Poe's shoulder, which is, against his tingling face, wonderfully solid. Carved, like statuary or architecture, but warm, too. Familiar. He blinks up, sees a spray of stars crowning Poe's skull, and reaches for one.

His fingers itch and prickle as the star escapes his grasp.

"That," Poe says, still laughing a little, deep in his chest, a rumble and whisper that Finn can hear perfectly because, it turns out, he's still leaning against Poe, and doesn't think he'll be moving any time soon, "is Yavin's finest, homegrown, not for export."

"Can I have some more?" 

Poe smiles down at him. "Take it slow, buddy. It's pretty powerful."

"Can you kiss me again, then?" Finn's pretty pleased with his logic. It's very efficient. _Elegant_ , even. Strategic.

"Finn, man, that's --" Poe doesn't move away, and his arm is still around Finn's shoulders, but it _feels_ like he's going. "That was just a --" BB-8 beeps. "Delivery system, let's call it."

When Finn breathes, his lungs inflate with light and he wants to laugh at how good it feels. Air steals down to his toes, makes them wiggle in his boots, then bounds back up his body, swinging from nerve to nerve, to rush out his mouth.

"You're a great delivery system," he says. "The best."

"You're _stoned_ ," Poe says. "Damn."

"Dameron," Finn says. "I'm the destination. Do not return to sender, deliver as marked."

Poe's smile just keeps widening. He moves Finn a little into the crook of his arm, then traces Finn's hairline with his free hand. "Now you're just acting stoned."

"No," Finn says, then frowns. When he does, Poe's finger slips down between his eyebrows. "Maybe. I'm not sure."

"Maybe we should have another hit, just to be sure," Poe says.

"Definitely. That is a strategy but also a tactic, and I approve of your recommendation."

Shaking his head, Poe taps the bridge of Finn's nose a couple times. "Weirdo."

"I'm not," Finn says, sitting up a little so Poe can do the whole ritual again. He slips his arm around Poe's waist so he can get the best view yet, _right_ here, nose practically touching the tube. "I'm just really glad you're not mad at me."

Poe tips his head back and exhales slowly, blurring the stars, then looks down. "I've never been mad at you."

"Untrue," Finn says. He pats BB-8. "My turn, _come on_."

"Yeah, yeah," Poe says, but doesn't make a move. "Okay, I was mad when I thought you were dead on Jakku. But that was at myself, not you."

"You were?"

Poe scowls, briefly, before nodding. "Of course. I fucking crashed you less than half an hour into your freedom. That's rage-inducing, among other complicated emotions Kalonia has a lot of words for."

"Oh." Finn doesn't want to take his arm back from Poe's waist. His black turtleneck is surprisingly soft against Finn's skin, and warm, and it's riding up just enough out of Poe's waistband that there's a stripe of skin that fits the inside of Finn's forearm perfectly. "That wasn't your fault, though."

Poe taps his temple. "Try telling my brain that, maybe it'll listen to you."

"Okay?" Finn presses his arm a little more firmly against Poe, imagining, then believing fully, that their pores are talking to each other. Whispering, gossiping, probably laughing a little at their dumb human hosts. 

"Anyway," Poe says, "that's the closest I've ever been to mad at you. What the hell, Finn?"

"I fucked up," Finn says, "back there on Kammia. Didn't get your signal, then thought I could blast my way out of the trap. I'd be mad at me if I were you but I'm also mad at me because I'm me."

Poe's expression goes from serious, nearly frowning, to grinning again. "You're stoned but even taking that into account, you're not making any sense."

"Should've followed orders," Finn says.

"Your orders were to do what you thought best."

Finn exhales again. "Yeah, but --"

"You're good, Finn," Poe says. "I can tell you that all night, if you want."

"Can you kiss me again instead?" He's tucked his fingertips into Poe's waistband and grips tighter now; if he makes himself difficult to dislodge, maybe he can stay. That might be how the logic goes. 

"Finn --" Poe licks his lips and sighs. "I want to, I really do."

"So do it." Finn digs his nails into Poe's waist and tilts his head at what feels like a good angle. 

He's getting ready to hear some tired excuse -- chain of command, or fraternization, or something equally stupid and irrelevant -- that he has prepared a panoply of unshakeable arguments against. (In order: this is a laterally-networked cell, not a traditional military hierarchy; fraternization does not apply to defectors and semi-independent intelligence agents; I really like you and I'm sick of fucking _waiting_. That last one is applicable to anything and everything Poe might try to throw at him. Multipurpose, you could say.)

"First things first," Poe says. "Let's get you a hit, okay?"

Fear goes to relief turns to vague irritation when Finn manages to make sense of that. "Asshole."

"I do things by the book," Poe says, leaning in, adding some more dried material to BB-8's bowl.

"Since when?"

"Hush, I'm...concentrating." Poe wiggles closer to push his lips down the tube.

"Now you're just showing off," Finn says as Poe drags his mouth up and down the tube, cheek puffing and hollowing, his tongue flickering in and out of sight. "Man, this is --"

It's making him hard. Harder. He has to lean back, braced on one hand, when Poe pulls off BB-8 with a wet plop and grabs the back of Finn's head and presses their mouths together. He isn't hesitant this time, or all that gentle, and Finn knows to inhale, and he does, sucking in all the steam, then half of Poe's tongue.

Eventually, the steam escapes, maybe through his pores or out his ears, Finn neither notices nor cares, because the kiss does not end. Poe's half-lying atop him, and Finn's hand is still under his pants, and their mouths are sliding, slurping, _tasting_ as they wriggle and shift together. 

"I wanted to do this sober," Poe says at one point, pushing up a little, gasping, his hair hanging in his eyes, already damp with sweat. "I really did."

"This is good, though," Finn says, hand on Poe's neck, pushing his sweater out of the way, thumb stroking his vein. "This is really good, right?"

"Yeah, but --" Poe shakes his head, arching suddenly, grinding against Finn when Finn strokes his mouth, touches his lips and teeth, taps his tongue. "Fuck. Okay, this is good, too."

Finn pulls him back down, mouth on his, hand flexing and grabbing at the taut skin over Poe's hip.

"Wait, you thought about this?" he asks the next time he needs to breathe. His thoughts are coming out of order, at their own whim, and it's pretty amusing.

Poe has his face against Finn's neck, mouth on the tendons, moving down to where his collarbone sprouts. He nods without looking up. He might say, "yeah", but it's muffled.

"Why didn't you do anything?"

Poe's eyes are somehow bright _and_ dark when he looks up. Bright, almost glinting, on the surface, dark all the way down. "Wanted it to be right."

Finn could shake him by the curls, or slap him silly, because that's _stupid_ , very deeply stupid, but no more stupid than his own need to make sure they were okay with each other. "Is it right now?"

"Man --" Poe pushes up on his palms, one planted next to Finn's cheek, the other in Finn's armpit. He hangs there, pinned against the sky, smile bright and eyes brighter, and _rolls_ his body, ribcage to knees, against Finn's. "It's so right."

Finn reaches up -- for half a lightyear, maybe a little less -- finally makes contact with Poe's cheek, and pulls him down to kiss him again. He hums a little, enjoying the weird rhythms and buzz that makes against their lips, around Poe's agile, slick tongue. The tingle brightens and dips lowers, wraps him up, around Poe, rolling over until he's on top and kissing down, tasting in as far as he can, rocking and humming, pushing his hand up under Poe's turtleneck.

"You've _never_ smoked purple spice before?" Poe asks, like he can't believe it, and Finn has to shake his head, because where did that question come from? "You're -- really coordinated. Wow."

"Yeah?" He doesn't feel coordinated, not in the usual sense. He's floating a little, asking his hands and body to cooperate, but it's up to them. They're being very helpful, though. _Very_. "Thanks."

Poe frowns, then grins, then kisses him. "For what?"

"Man, keep _up_ \--" Finn tugs down the high neck of Poe's sweater again and mouths the front of his throat, humming in a higher register. Poe surges up against him, around him, grabbing at his head with both hands and kissing him.

"You've done this, though, right?" Poe asks. "This, like. _Sex_. With someone?"

Finn smiles, stretching it out, and the moment has a flavor. Mostly Poe, all bright and green and _sharp_ , but wet, too, and secret. "Have I?"

"Ass," Poe says, then, when Finn gets his knee between Poe's thighs and rocks their groins together, more softly, "Genius."

"I've thought a lot about this." Finn rocks his leg between Poe's, lifting and lowering, and Poe chases him, reaching, grunting a little irritatedly, trying to catch his mouth. Finn leans back, watches Poe push up to sitting, then grabs him by the shoulders with both hands, kissing him, drawing him up higher to straddle Finn's thigh. 

"Fuck," Poe says against Finn's tongue. "Me, too, but --"

"What did you want?" Hands under Poe's armpits, Finn tugs him til he's kneeling, then slides his face down the front of Poe's chest, over the bunched-up sweater, then the exposed, goosebumped skin that trembles with his lips. He pauses, looking up, as Poe sways there.

"I had a lot of plans," Poe says, " _a lot_ , they were very detailed and there might have been flowcharts --" Finn laughs at that and Poe frowns. "There could have been flowcharts, you don't know."

"No," Finn admits, sucking a little on the hollow spot at the arch of Poe's ribcage, "you're right, there could have been. It doesn't sound like you _at all_ , but maybe, sure."

Poe's hands keep lifting and alighting, palms curving around Finn's cheeks, cupping the back of his head, squeezing his neck, shaking his shoulders. "The basic plan was to fuck your brains out."

"Yeah," Finn says, swallowing hard, teeth in Poe's stomach now until the dizziness fades. His chin is brushing the patch of hair widening around Poe's navel. "That could work."

There're his hands again, cupped over Finn's ears, cradling his head. Poe peers down, lip in his teeth, gaze sharp.

Not looking away, Finn tugs open Poe's trouser fasteners, eases the pants down his thighs, licks his lip without thinking. When Poe jumps at the sight, rocking forward, fingertips digging into Finn's hair, Finn does it again, chafing his palms up and down Poe's thighs as the muscles jump and clench.

"I just --" Finn swallows as one of Poe's hands slips around to the back of his head, gentle and firm both, "really want to taste you."

"Yeah," Poe says, breathing out the sound like the steam, letting it go, his eyes widening.

His dick is hot, straining, in Finn's hand, his hips rocking and dipping. The effort he exerts, to still, feel, _quiet_ , is both futile and beautiful when Finn licks each side of the head, the slit, then pushes his mouth over the whole head, a little way down the shaft.

And then Poe's saying his name, first like a sigh, then more sharply. Finn's tasting the steam all over again, something wetter than spit, his tongue twining down, reaching, lips sliding down, so far that Finn's blinking against hair and swallowing before his thoughts catch up and check in. When they do, he's already all the way down, lips brushing hair, chin bumping balls, both hands on Poe's ass, and Poe's pushing, gasping, _sinking_ in further.

Finn draws up, throat opening, air wheezing out and in, then drives back down, suddenly desperate to hold it all, inhale and _hang_ here. Poe gets that, holds his head more tightly, thrusts in with strokes that are deep and _hard_ , saying Finn's name again, over and over.

Finn's never been this stretched, this filled, and he keeps opening more, his lips burning, his tongue rippling, and he's looking up, watching Poe watching him, Poe's thumbs moving over the lump his cock's making in Finn's cheeks and throat. Poe pushes hard, a few more times, and Finn bends back, then forward, shoving himself like he could stuff every centimeter of Poe, ankles to skull, into his mouth if he just had enough time, if he just tried hard enough.

He's the one whimpering, he realizes, as Poe's body snaps back and he pumps down Finn's throat. So much, it backs up, runs down Finn's chin, and he's _floating_ now, moaning when Poe pulls out and takes most of Finn's nervous system with him, then rising higher, dragged upward by Poe's hands, to his mouth. Finn wraps his arm around Poe's shoulder and pours himself inside.

Poe lets him, sucks Finn's mouth clean, keeps kissing him, but slowly the kiss shifts into anxious little pecks all over Finn's face.

"Verdict?" Poe asks when Finn's breathing has slowed a little and he's not trembling quite so hard any longer. "Taste all right for you?"

Finn laughs into the corner of Poe's neck where it becomes shoulder, heaving with it, a little overcome, and Poe just keeps kissing his head, the outside of his ear, the side of his neck.

He's waited so long for this, maybe longer than he even realizes, that for several long moments, Finn keeps floating, everywhere that he's not touching Poe. He's empty, or relieved, or some combination of that, plus other things -- "complicated emotions," Poe said, and that sounds about right -- and they're all streaming through him _right now_.

"Hey," Poe says, hands back on Finn's neck, thumbs sliding along his jaw, "hey, it's okay. It's okay, right?"

"Yeah, it is," Finn says, exhaling one more time and settling back into his skin, filling his body back up, _coming home_. "More than okay."

"Good," Poe says, and, "glad to hear it", as he kisses the center of Finn's forehead, then the tip of his nose, the swell of his lower lip, his chin. He rolls his forehead, sweaty hair dragging along, against Finn's mouth, and breathes. "Fuck."

"What?"

"Nothing," Poe says, hands on Finn's waist now, then his thighs. He grins, much more slowly than usual, and palms Finn's crotch. "I just can't decide what I want to do. What do you want me to do?"

Finn snorts hard and pushes up against Poe's hand. "Man, I don't care. Anything. Everything. Go nuts, just _go_ \--."

His fly's open, Poe's hand is inside, touching and stroking, all so light that it could be a dream, and then Poe's kissing him again, slow and deep, so his tongue and hand are working together, drawing Finn out, spinning him long and loose, then snapping him back, harder and needier than ever. Poe's mouth skids along Finn's jaw, to his ear, his breath hot and whistling and tickly. "I want to eat you out, I want to suck you off, I want to watch you come, I want _a lot_. So much. You."

"There's time, though," Finn says and doesn't believe it. Poe's stubble moves against Finn's cheeks as he smiles. He doesn't believe it either.

"Sit on me," Poe says, and he's lying back, pulling Finn over him. He yanks at Finn's trousers. "Get these off?"

"Man, you could _help_ ," Finn says, but it's easier to swing one leg free and pull them off, then move back, straddling Poe's chest. The cold air, then Poe's hot breath, stings his cock, makes him achingly aware of every smear of pre-come and stain of sweat, and he yelps as Poe pulls him forward until Finn's knees -- one clothed, the other bare -- are bracketing Poe's head, digging into the lichen and soft, uneven ground. He braces his hands on his thighs, lifting up, getting ready to angle down, but Poe's mouthing his balls now, their underside, and pushing up, spreading Finn wider, tonguing the tight, sweaty skin behind his balls, and then --

"Fuck," Finn says. He tips, then falls forward, catching himself on one hand when Poe kisses the edge of his crack, then his hole, and then he's making good on his promise, opening Finn up with his lips, his nose, his _tongue_. Finn keeps rocking back, spreading as wide as he can before he realizes he should reach back, badly balanced on knees and one hand, to pull himself open, give Poe more, give him _all_ of it.

Poe groans against him, up into him, when Finn pulls open, and touches the back of Finn's hand, squeezes his wrist, lifts it free to replace it with his own hand. Finn's on all fours now, rutting against Poe's tongue, screwing himself back and down onto it. He thinks he might have come, if the blazing twitches and jerking grunts he's making are any indication. 

But, no, his dick's still hard and jumping against his belly, bouncing off Poe's forehead, the crown of his skull. When Finn tries to reach down and take care of it, Poe growls out a wordless, but unmistakable, warning.

"Poe --" he stops there, it's enough, because Poe's mouth is doing something else, deeper, broader, so slick and full of suction that Finn falls onto his elbows and pushes back and down. He's working against a finger now, maybe a thumb, harder than a tongue, slipping around his hole and nudging inside.

He pushes back up when there's a strangled little whimper. Poe bites down on the fold of his asscheek. "Watch it, pal."

"Yeah, yeah," Finn says and only hears later that it's a perfect echo of Poe's own sarcastically beleaguered impatience.

Poe rolls a little, tucks himself up, and wriggles upward through Finn's legs until his face -- shining with sweat and spit, pockmarked by starlight -- is visible again. 

His thumb is still twisting in Finn's hole, his knuckle bending and bumping and _stroking_ upward.

"I want to blow you _so hard_ ," Poe says and straightens his thumb inside Finn, makes him groan and buckle at the waist, "but I also want to watch you come."

"Dilemma," Finn manages to say. He's sitting up better now, cock bobbing, so hard he thinks he might be numb. "I -- I just want to come."

"Yeah, buddy," Poe says, mouth opening, tongue working obscenely around his swollen lips. "I had a feeling you did." With his free hand, he lifts Finn's hand from its death grip on his knee and puts it on his cock. "Let me watch? I'll talk you through it."

"Quick talk," Finn says and laughs, hoarsely; it's not funny, he's just _gone_ already. "Really quick."

"Works for me." Poe bends his legs at the knee, tips Finn back, and keeps his thumb steady, steady, turning. "Jack it? For me?"

"Yeah," Finn says and his hands are still free, independent agents, but they're good comrades, they're pitching in, he can grasp Poe's arm with one and hold his cock with the other. "Yeah, here's --"

"You look so good," Poe's saying, rubbing Finn from the inside, squinting upward, his eyebrow jumping the way it does when he's especially enthusiastic, " _hell_ , Finn, you look so good and you _feel_ even better, you feel so good, and your mouth on me, I couldn't, I _can't_ \--"

Finn gives up on replying. In words anyway; he sucks the inside of his cheek, tries to taste the last of Poe's come, twists and yanks his shuddering dick, drives back up onto his knees, all his muscles locking.

"-- want you like this _every night_ ," Poe's saying, folding up to follow Finn, his thumb slipping in deeper, his mouth opening, "you're so good, you don't even know, you're _beautiful_ , never going to get enough of you --"

His voice is rough, scratched-up, _private_. Finn wants to memorize what he's saying, hear it again and again in memory, but he's losing the rest of his attention, his balls drawn up and smarting now, orgasm throbbing up his ass and down his spine. He pulls it out, shoots, collapsing, sees Poe chase it with his mouth.

He's shaking, rolling off Poe, hand curled protectively over himself now, until he lands on his back a little ways away, the stars bigger and nearer than ever over him. BB-8 toots a soft greeting as he trundles over to poke a sensor into Finn's cheek. After he beeps out the reading, Poe says, "thanks, buddy, see you back at the tent" and slides on his ass down to Finn's side.

"Hey," he says.

Poe leans back on one elbow. His hair is a disaster, snarled and half-matted, and his sweater is wrinkled, covered with lichen and dirt and probably several bodily fluids. And despite, because of, all that, he looks beautiful; Finn reaches up and brushes his knuckles along Poe's jaw.

"Your droid do med-checkups for all your partners?"

"Just the ones he likes," Poe replies and tips his head against Finn's hand. 

"I see," Finn says and shifts a little closer so his head can rest on Poe's leg. "Very helpful. Spice pipe, medical tech, comm array, maps to legendary heroes."

"He's the best," Poe says softly, lightly petting Finn's hair.

"Waited a long time for that," Finn says and he's not scared or anything, but he's looking away, over the ridge, where a cluster of stars winks and dims behind a low cloud.

"Worth it?" Poe asks, hand going still.

"Yeah," Finn says, stretching, taking in the last fading throbs of pleasure. "Definitely. You?"

"How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long," Poe says, and clears his throat, looking away his jaw and chin sharp against the night, "were you waiting?"

Finn smiles and turns on his side, arm over Poe's lap, face pressed into his leg. "Way too long."

"Yeah," Poe says, "okay. Me, too."

"You're an idiot," Finn mumbles and Poe pushes his hand under the neck of Finn's jersey.

"I am. What's your excuse?"

Finn looks up. "I don't know. Scared."

He waits for Poe to laugh at him or tell him something inspirational and nice but entirely irrelevant -- _hey, buddy, you're the bravest guy I know!_ \-- but Poe just looks back, mouth a thin line, eyes hard to make out under his lashes and brows.

"Yeah, well, don't be." He frowns for a second. "You don't have to be. Not around me."

"Aye, aye," Finn says, smiling, and adds, "so this is all down to Yavin purple spice, huh?"

Poe pinches him and shakes him a little. "Of course. No interest whatsoever in you before that first hit. Now that it's wearing off, let's go back to being best buds and mission partners."

Finn grabs at Poe's waist reflexively and he has to unlock his fingers with deliberate effort. "Funny."

"It gets you pretty worked up," Poe says. "That's why --"

"You always went alone."

Poe's smile tilts sharply. "Yeah. Couldn't be responsible for my actions otherwise."

Around them, the sky's going to stay dark. Even if the horizon seems to tremble, going slightly purple past the ridge, they won't be here the next time dawn does break.

"Tent?" Finn asks. "Suddenly seeing the value of those terrible bedrolls."

Poe tilts forward, pushing up onto one knee, then pulling himself to his feet, before he reaches down for Finn. "They're still hell to sleep on."

"Not moss and gravel, though," Finn says.

Hand in Poe's, he sets off, towing him down the moraine, picking up momentum, running faster and faster until they stumble through the campsite. BB-8 throws himself backwards with a shrill rebuking bzzt. Poe launches himself against Finn's back, tackling him, arms around his chest, their legs tangling up and lungs burning, and they land outside the tent, rolling right up to their mission satchel and bed.


End file.
